One of the Gifts of Growing Old
Now Playing: memory is the mother of the muses
I remember exactly where I was tomorrow morning twenty years ago.

I was a junior at John H. Reagan High School in Austin, Texas. And I was at school that day, just leaving the library there in the Old Mall, when I heard a bunch of kids laughing and joking about how the shuttle had exploded.

I was bewildered at their disrespect and it pissed me off deeply. In fact, not long after, I had occasion to write a column for my school's newspaper ---the Reagan Radar--- in which I criticized those fellow students' inexcusable behavior.

But I also recall that our librarian, a good and interesting man named Jordan Grams, told me after my little outburst that those kids were dealing with the news in the only way they knew; that they weren't as insensitive to what had happened as I believed, but were only showing their emotional immaturity.

Mr. Grams was probably right, but the disintegration of the Challenger was one of those events in my very early manhood that made me consciously value being an American and bolstered my great love of History. It was a terrible slap in the face from which the only healthy response was to insist that we recover. And I think we have.

But I also worry that we are not taking seriously enough our obligation to History and Humanity when we do not do more to make our way to the Moon and Mars and into the greater solar system. That is our final destiny and I fear that we are looking away from it again.

I will die on Earth, but Man must live everywhere.

After all, we can't allow the Quadrengians of OGLE-2005-BLG-390Lb to have the whole place to themselves, can we?

CORRECTION: I don't know why I thought yesterday was the anniversary. I am embarrassed. Today, 28 January 2006, is the 20th anniversary of the Challenger Disaster, so I changed a word in the opening graf to reflect that.

I stand by the rest of the post, though.